amusement one bold fellow screaming above the rest that he had Herod's foreskin for sale, skinned by a demon and placed in the cave above the Dead Sea. There was a small stall, guarded by two burly assistants, selling books and manuscripts. Athelstan would have loved to stop there. Such merchandise was very rare and Athelstan, who was determined to study the night sky before winter set in, was always keen on discovering some book on astronomy or astrology. Such manuscripts were now flooding into the country, brought by travellers from the East and hastily copied by scribes and scriveners. Nevertheless, he had to press on. Once darkness fell, the fisher of men would set sail on his barge.
Athelstan heaved a sigh of relief when he rounded a corner and saw the fisher of men sitting on a bench outside his chapel. He was surrounded by his strange crew, outcasts and lepers, their faces and hands bound in dirty linen bandages. Only one was different, a young boy called Icthus. He had no hair, eyebrows or eyelids and, with his protuberant eyes, pouting lips and thin-ribbed body, he looked like a fish and, indeed, could swim like one.
Very few people approached these men who combed the waters of the Thames for corpses. Outside the chapel was a proclamation bearing the charges for bodies recovered:
Accidents 3d. Suicides 4d. Murders 6d. The mad and the insane 9d.
The fisher of men rose as Athelstan approached.
'You have business with me, Brother?'
The fisher of men pulled back his cowl, his skulllike face bright with pleasure.
No one knew his origins. Some whispered that he was a sailor who had found his wife and children killed by marauders. He had lost his wits, wandered in the wastelands north of the city, before coming back to take up this most grisly position as an official of the City Corporation. He clapped his hands and a stool was produced from inside the chapel. The friar sat down.
'You wish to view a corpse?' the fisher of men asked. 'We have a fine array of goods today, Brother. A young man, deep in his cups, who tried to swim the Thames last night; a woman who threw herself off a bridge; a soldier from the Tower, as well as the usual collection of animals: five dogs, three cats, a sow and a pet weasel.' He grasped the skeletal arm of Icthus, his chief assistant. 'All plucked from the river by this child of God. And where is Sir John?' the fisher of men prattled on. 'The lord coroner does not visit me? I saw him today, coming out of Master Bapaume's, the goldsmith's.'
'It's good to see you sir,' Athelstan replied. 'And may Christ smile on you and your endeavours. Sir John and I are involved in certain mysteries.'
'And you need my help?'
'Yes sir, we need your help.'
The thin, bony hands spread out. Athelstan noticed how long and clean the nails were, more like talons than human limbs.
'We have costs, Brother. I have a family to keep; pleasures to make.'
'What pleasures?' Athelstan asked curiously.
The fisher of men leaned forward. 'I visit Old Mother Harrowtooth on London Bridge. She offers me relief.'
'Yes, yes, quite.' Athelstan opened his purse and took out a silver coin, one of those Bladdersniff had handed over.
The fisher of men's eyes gleamed but Athelstan held on to the coin.
'I want to tell you a story,' the friar continued.
'When you are holding a piece of silver, Brother, I don't care how long it is.'
'I am an assassin,' Athelstan began.
The fisher of men started rocking backwards and forwards with laughter. The rest of his crew joined
'I am an assassin,' Athelstan repeated. 'I am riding back through the fields of Southwark. I do not cross the bridge. Instead, I dismount somewhere opposite Billingsgate or even the Wool Quay, a fairly deserted spot. I am disguised and intend to cross the river by barge.'
'So, it's useless making enquiries among the boatmen?' the fisher of men broke in.
'Precisely. I cross hidden by the cloak and cowl I have brought with me.'
'But you have to get rid of the horse?' The fisher of men's thin lips parted in a smile. 'In Southwark, that would be easy enough. A horse left wandering by itself is soon taken. What else, Brother?'
'I don't really care if the horse is taken or not,' Athelstan explained. 'But its harness and housings?'
'Ah, I see.' The fisher of men smiled. 'That must not be discovered. Very difficult to hide eh, Brother? So, if I were an assassin, I would go out somewhere along the mud flats and throw it into the river. If I understand you correctly, you wish us to search for it? A heavy saddle would sink and lie in the mud. However, it might take months before it was completely covered over.'
'Can you do it?'
'Before darkness falls: Brother, our barge awaits.'
'There is one other matter,' Athelstan persisted.
'The Paradise Tree?' The fisher of men spoke up. 'I know your business, Brother. The good tavern-owner, Kathryn Vestler, stands trial for her life. I cannot believe the stories. A kindly woman who has shown us and others great charity. She has given the Four Gospels the right to pitch camp and await the coming of St Michael and his angels.'
His words provoked laughter among his coven.
'They'll have to wait long,' he continued. 'We often see the beacon fire they light upon the bank. On dark nights when the moon is hidden, it gives us bearings.'
'I am not really interested in them,' Athelstan said. 'True, Brother, madcaps the lot of them. The sounds we hear from their camp site are strange to say the least.'
'In your travels,' Athelstan chose his words carefully, 'especially at night, sir, you and your crew must see certain sights? Barges which have no lanterns, men masked, hooded and cowled?'
The fisher of men stared coldly back.
'Brother, I cannot tell you what happens along the Thames at night. We go unarmed. Oh, we carry an arbalest, a sword and a spear but we are left alone because we leave others alone.'
Athelstan sighed and got to his feet. He handed over the silver coin.
'But I can trust you on this matter?'
The fisher of men shook Athelstan's hand. The friar was surprised at the strength of his grip.
'You and Sir John are my friends. I have taken your silver. I have clasped your hand.'
Athelstan thanked them and went down towards the riverside where he hired a barge to take him across the now choppy Thames.
Athelstan dozed in the wherry then made his weary way along the valleys and runnels, passing the priory of St Mary Overy. All around him Southwark was coming to life at the approach of darkness. Taverns and ale-shops were opening; candles glowed in the windows. Dark shadows thronged at the mouths of alleyways or in doorways. Young bloods from the city, mice-eyed, heads held arrogantly, traipsed through their streets, thumbs stuck in their war belts: bully-boys looking for trouble, cheap ale and a fresh doxy.
Athelstan hated such men. They came from the retinues of the nobles at Westminster to seek their pleasures. Fighting men, skilled with sword and dagger, they could challenge the like of Pike in his cups to a fight and, in the twinkling of an eye, stick him like a pig.
He passed the Piebald and sketched a blessing in the direction of Cecily the courtesan, dressed in a low, revealing smock, her hair freshly crimped, a blue ribbon tied round her throat.
'You'll get up to no mischief, Cecily?' Athelstan called out.
'Oh no, Brother,' she answered sweetly. 'I'll be good all evening.'
Athelstan smiled and made his way up the alleyway. The church forecourt was deserted and he sighed in relief. However, as he went down the side of the church towards his house, two figures came through the lych gate of the cemetery.
'Oswald Fitz-Joscelyn! Eleanor! What are you doing here?'
The young lovers looked rather dishevelled, bits of grass clung to Eleanor's dress and she had a daisy chain around her neck. The young man, sturdy and broad, with a good honest face, laughed and shook his head.
'Brother, we may have been lying down in the grass but we were talking to Godbless.'
Eleanor spoke up. 'Can we see you?'
